In 1977, I saw the original Star Wars 13 times. I was 6, and nothing was ever the same again. Playground games took on the flavor of a galactic rebellion, dirt bikes became Land Speeders, and dinner cutlery moved with the sounds of light sabers.
When the trailer for Episode I played in front of Meet Joe Black in 1999, I was one of those fans who paid $12 to go and see it. Me and about 15 other 30-year-old guys cheered in the audience when it started, while it played, after it was over, and on our way back to the parking lot.
Then I actually saw The Phantom Menace. I left the theater in a haze of conflicted feelings. It took me three weeks to admit to myself that perhaps this wasn't going to profoundly change my life. Yet, I still saw it three times in the theater.
I saw Revenge of the Sith last week and I was overjoyed. Not because there were people walking around the lobby dressed like Darth Vader, and not because there were light saber duels happening outside the theater, and not because I liked the movie — which I did. I'm thrilled because I'm finally free. Free from a cinematic obsession I've had for 28 years.
I'll no longer have that nervous sense of anticipation. My expectations are done being Bantha fodder. I won't have to listen to critics talk about wooden acting and leaden dialogue. I won't have to listen to fans whine about Jar Jar or see them sadly standing in lines for months.
The circle is complete. The last light saber duel has been done. At least until the DVD set comes out and I watch them all from Episode 1–6, just to see what it's like.
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